Class Act
by Kamimaia
Summary: I think everyone will say that it is about time... Read and Review Please!
1. The Squire

(Hey all! Welcome to my first series of short stories. I might at some point try to write a longer one, so if you like a character a lot from my stories, give me a scream and I'll consider them playing a part! R&R, and I'll use any flames to power my furnace. Constructive criticism is ALWAYS good, however, and if something swings the wrong way with me or so many others, I'm likely to rewrite it… anyway, I ramble. Read on!)

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The Squire

He'd made a miscalculation. . . quite a large one. . . The thing was huge, like a ball of tentacles surrounding a gaping mouth that didn't have a single human-shaped tooth in it… The teeth were all serrated, cracked and broken like jagged glass. The bestiary had called it a Morbol, or an Ochu. . . But he couldn't remember the coloration difference. What was it? Red for O. . . no, that couldn't be it. This was green.

Lukim Ethersmith was a strongish lad of fifteen, his arms being more tendons than muscle, however. He wasn't like most of the other cadets in the school. Where all the students opted for a breastplate and leather pauldrons, he went for the opposite. Steel pauldrons helped him more, and the right one was spiked for good reason. His chest was only covered by leather, though. . . he'd have opted for metal, but it would have been too heavy. No helm, no real leg protection. . . Had he been a fool? No… but fighting this thing was probably foolish. His drill instructor had told him to bring back a chunk of one of these things as proof of his skill, to achieve the next rank…

Still, it was a bit of luck to find one this far away from the swamps. It was perfectly healthy-looking, unfortunately. . . Well, so was he.

Lukim braced himself for impact, and stood up from the rock he'd been crouching behind. Sixty paces away, the Morbol/Ochu thing gurgled and roared. It had seen him, he was sure. Seven eyes on those strange stalks had swiveled to face him while the others twisted and spun madly. Lukim broke into a run, his rather lightly-armored self making better time than any football player on a field. Twenty feet. . . Ten feet. . .

At school, they'd called it the Lukim Slam when he'd become so accurate with it that it was impossible to get out of the way. His teacher had declared it useless until he'd hit him so hard with a twenty foot start that the instructor had needed a chemist. His dash was about to pay off again.

Just two feet from the slimy green ball of lard, he leapt, turning just lightly to the right and leaning forwards to bring his spiked shoulder to bear. There was a sensation of 'whumpf', and Lukim heard the thing scream in agony. Switching the momentum to his legs, he used his hands to spring backwards off the creature and land on his feet. Not turning away from the creature, he backed up. . . And drew his sword.

OW! What was this thorn in me? It hurt. I, Ganger, do not like hurt. It came from the human's arm. The human's arm has thorned me. My liquid is on the human's arm, and it is also leaking from my side. I will eat this human. One pitiful human cannot hurt Ganger again, if Ganger can see the thorns.

Lukim braced himself as the thing turned fully around, it's mouth opening wide with the eerie purple tongue lolling out. "Disgusting." As the beast roared, he swung horizontally once, the blade cutting air as the nightmare slid backwards as if on a slicked practice mat. One of the longer tentacles whipped forward, and wrapped around Lukim's neck before he even had a chance to yell. This thing was fast. It was strong too, as Lukim soon found out. He couldn't breathe.

Ha ha ha, Human. You are food for Ganger now. Your breathing tube is too easy to see, easy to target. You have no shell there. Wait. What is the human doing? He raises the shiny metal. Why does he raise the shiny metal? It is pointless. His head is purple, and he will die soon. OW! He cut off my arm! That is not fair! I would have made his death quick, but now I see why all the Cuar play with their food. Maybe I eat his legs first, then bite off his head! Yes!

"Alright, you sly son of a bitch… that was one hell of a cheap move!" Lukim massaged his neck, knowing that there would be scars there in the morning. Razor protrusions on the tentacles. Few more seconds, and the thing could have simply cut his head off from constriction. Where was the thing's weakness? Stones probably wouldn't get through the thing's thick hide, and he didn't have a bow or one of those nifty new guns. His mad dash hadn't helped matters much, and he wouldn't be able to do it again with so much surprise. There was no way he'd be able to throw and grapple the thing, despite whatever his wrestling instructor had said.

No, he was wrong. Sir Drigget had said something about the art of the Zen strike. Putting the limitations of your muscles somewhere else, that was the key. Just think about your target, and your sword. When you're in a state of Zen, you can break your sword on the edge, if whatever you strike doesn't snap first. Lukim backed up even further. The thing was starting to refocus on him, rather than it's amputated whip. State of Zen, Lukim. State of complete, total, utter ignorance of how heavy this sword is in your hands. You have muscles that haven't even been used yet.

Lukim closed his eyes, still walking quickly backwards to stay out of this thing's arm reach. The ache in his neck disappeared from his thoughts, the strain of walking to this place and running shoulder-first into the mass of flesh was sent somewhere else for the time being. When he opened his eyes, the sword was feather-light, and he could barely feel it in his hands. One of the beast's tentacles whipped forward, seeking presumably to disarm him. It was simply too bad that it took only a flick of his wrist to sever the limb. Lukim had put his troubles elsewhere. In doing so, he'd accumulated every last ounce of power he had into his arms, his limbs, his perception.

I have lost another arm! Ganger has never lost this many limbs on one human before. I am beginning to feel afraid. If Ganger lets the shiny metal stab him, it will hurt much worse than a thorn, and Ganger will lose a lot of blood. Human does not retreat. Humans do not eat Morbol meat. Does that mean the human wants to kill Ganger for fun? Human is faster than Ganger, and I won't be able to escape if he chases me. I retreat slightly, half-hoping that the human will leave me alone.

"What, giving up already?" Lukim couldn't help but wonder if the thing was more intelligent than it appeared to be at first glance. How big of a morbol piece did it have to be for Sir Drigget to be satisfied?

Better yet, did the thing understand a bargain? He'd heard the mediators had learned to speak to the monsters, whom they said all spoke the same language in a sort of simpler Morse code. Maybe it would. . . picking up a severed squid-like protrusion, he sheathed his sword with his other hand. Two more tentacles would probably be enough. He wouldn't be able to carry five all the way back to Dorter.

"Alright, ugly. I need a chunk of you before I go back. I've got two nice trophies here, but I need two more. I have one really expensive potion right here. I dunno if it'll work on a squid like you, but you can have it if you give me two more. It should get you at least halfway towards growing those things back."

What was this? The human does not press the attack, instead holds out my lost arms and a bottle of really blue glow-y water. The Humans always drank these things when they were hurt. Did the human mean to call a truce? Did he mean to give me the blue glow-y water? No. . . The human wanted a trade. My arms for the water? The water would grow my arms back. Well, he can hand me the water, for he has two- no. he wants two more. Ganger cannot give two more! He is already half-blind on one side. He wants two more from the other side? Maybe, if he finds a stump and a clean cut. Ganger does not like pain, but Ganger cannot beat the human anyway. Do it.

The creature growled, but Lukim couldn't figure out if that was consent or just unintelligible. Whatever it was, the thing was moving over to a rock and laying a pair of extra-long sushi dinners across it. If that wasn't consent, Lukim didn't know what was. There was a sensation of 'thunk', and the two tentacles were lopped off cleanly.

"Alright. Oh, screw it. Here's my belt's worth of health vials, and a day's rations. Good luck to you, Morbol. . . Ochu. . . Whatever you are. The guys are never going to believe me. . . I guess I'll just never tell them." Whatever happened to the morbol now, as it munched delightedly on the glass, the meat, and the liquid, Lukim would be one step closer to becoming a knight.

(And so concludes the first class. . . Next up, Chemist! yes, this one was short and kinda fast, but I'm warming up, honest. remember, if you like the character and want more of him/her/it, scream at me until I right something about them!)


	2. The Chemist

The Chemist

It was time for Sir Balbanes's medication… again. Laliss Carigad, age 29, walked the rather long corridor to his room lightly, her padded slippers bought specifically for quiet footsteps. As the house Chemist, she'd learned that it didn't do well for the ill to be jerked out of slumber by the slap of a leather shoe. Normally, it would have been her husband who'd have gotten out of bed to take care of this, but alas, he was in Goug to help with the many miners' injuries and otherwise from traversing all the deep mines and such. He'd sent her a few gifts back, though, so perhaps it wasn't all sad. Every once in a while he'd send some odd bit of jewelry or perhaps a particularly helpful bit of equipment from ages past.

One of them she kept with her always. It was what he termed a 'gun', which didn't at all give reference to the sound it made. It was a loud thing, and slower to load than a bow though it was far more accurate and the stopping power alone kept her feeling safe even though her dear Cildrik wasn't in a day's travel on chocobo. Though Laliss hid her grey-eyed, blonde-haired, slender-yet-endowed beauty conservatively in a simple brown dress reaching from her neck to her ankle, she was never without a little protection from the whims of the lusty with that perilous projectile weapon hidden in the white sash around her waist.

She padded gently down the long hall, careful not to wake the sleepers behind each door. She was careful not to be clumsy with the red medicine-filled vial in her hand, either. One had to have quite stable hands, to mix the ingredients necessary. It was strange, though. From her analysis and minor magics, she'd found Sir Beoulve to be suffering not of a virus, or any sort of bacteria, but instead he was being overwhelmed by mosfungus spores. She'd advised that his room be changed three times, and they'd not refused her, but that hadn't stopped the spreading. The gardener said that he'd not been growing the mushrooms, either, and Laliss had gone to have a look herself (To no avail. The gardener had a strict outlook on keeping a good garden, and had criticized Laliss on her windowsill plants many times.) Miss… or was it Mrs., now? Surely there was a five year grace period before you got so old, so deep in the marital relationship that you became a Mrs. One year wouldn't be long enough to make the shift, particularly if you only manage to see your love every other week. Even if it was, she would insist on the Miss.

As Miss Carigad came closer to the noble's room in question, the door was closed. That in itself was strange, as Sir Balbanes always liked the door open, to let himself fall asleep from the noises in the hallway. One tender hand turned the knob slowly, silently, only to find it locked. Locked? Why would Balbanes lock his door, let alone close it? Lady Alma still ran crying into his room from time to time, from nightmares she'd had. For Sir Beoulve to lock his door was like God himself saying 'you're on your own'.

She took her hand away from it, feeling slightly bewildered. Of course, perhaps she was being stupid. One man loved his privacy as much as the next, she supposed. Perhaps he'd gotten a servant to close and lock it for him as he himself were bedridden. Wait. . . No, that in itself was wrong. Why would Balbanes ask a servant to lock a door he himself could not open or unlock? The handle clicked, and Laliss put her back against the wall. Balbanes surely couldn't feel well enough to open the door on his own! He was vomiting green when last she saw him. Could it be. . . a poisoner? Laliss reached behind her, pulling out the sleek steel tube. It was always loaded, and all she had to do was pull the lever back to cock it, and she did so. The door opened quietly out into the hallway. But Laliss knew that beard. . . that orange hair. . .

"Sir Dycedarg! Why are you up so late?"

He startled, dropping a beaker of green powder on the hardwood floor, which promptly broke. What had he been doing in there? There was green powder on his hands, as well. "Miss Carigad, what an interesting surprise. Were you about to give my dear father his dosages? Go back to bed, I'll take care of it myself.

"No. . . I don't think so. I am the chemist, I must take full responsibility, if I have mixed something the wrong way."

"But Miss Carigad, I insist. It is the least I could do for taking care of father. Here, let me take that from you."

"No, I-" That smell. . . It was on his hands, as he reached out for the red vial. There was no mistaking it, as she'd smelled it every night for the last two months. Mosfungus!

"You. . . you BASTARD! How DARE you? He's your father!"

"Dear me. And to think I thought you better than to be so stupid."

"Stupid, yes! To think it was under my nose the whole time! How you always passed me on the way here, every night! I should have suspected it. GUARDS! GUARDS! Poisoner! Poisoner!"

"You silly bitch. Did you think the Hokuten would believe you? Not only am I higher in their trust, I am also in command under my father. They will take my story over yours."

"Really? And what story do **you** have, Dycedarg? I just found you with mosfungus caked on your palms!"

"Ha, ha. You're so naïve. It doesn't take any evidence for the castle guard to kill a poisoner. . . what makes you think you'll be able to tell your side?"

"I'll. . . I'll. . ."

"You'll DIE, Miss Carigad. You have no weapons, no story, and above all, no CHANCE."

"You're WRONG!"

Laliss whipped her right hand out from behind her skirt leg. She'd had next to no practice with the gun, but at point blank it wouldn't matter. It was too bad she'd counted on being able to aim before Dycedarg would act. Instead, it was the work of a moment for him to grab her arm and pull her forward onto the knife that had almost magically appeared in his hands at chest height.

"The guards will say they heard a woman calling, but who knows how a voice may sound after being heard from down a flight of steps?"

"I... No... Bal.. banes..."

"It's too bad, Miss Carigad. Really, too bad that such a young, pretty girl has to be an assassin for Sir Beoulve."

Laliss's last motion was to pull the trigger, hoping that her grabbed hand would hit something useful, perhaps even a toe, but this last act of hopeful justice went uselessly, and the last thing she felt was Dycedarg drop her to the ground like a lifeless doll.


	3. The Archer

The Archer

"Followers of the church! This man is an Outlaw, a member of the Death Corp! You have all been gathered here today to witness his execution, after being tried by the church itself. Has the guilty any last words?"

"Yeah. . . I just got one thing to say. Well, two, things actually. . ."

Fortra Tegglebeck gritted his teeth, grinning just slightly. He had been caught sneaking around in the Orbonne monastery, following a rumor about the holy stones. He couldn't have helped but thought that the Death Corp would succeed much easier, and with less bloodshed if he could bring Wiegraf just one of the fabled crystals. He would have gotten away with it, too, if one of the yin-yang mages hadn't caught him with a damn spell while practicing. By accident, St. Ajora! He'd been caught by accident!

"Well? Out with it, criminal. These gallows were not built for only you."

"You can bloody well wait. A man should be allowed to enjoy his last few moments of life."

Fortra was a thin lad, in many ways undernourished at age eighteen. He was not anorexic, but the simple fact that he was in the Death Corp gave him excuse enough to be gaunt. No matter how well-fitted the clothes were to him, they always hung off him like rags on a coat hanger. This, and the fact that he was abnormally flexible, as well as strong for his muscle mass would play a part in the greatest escape attempt he'd ever made.

"You have one minute" came the Executioner's ultimatum, hand resting on the lever that would cause the stage under Fortra's feet to fall, thereby hanging him.

"Alright. . . the first thing I want to say is, all you bloody nobles really need to take your heads outta yer own arses. The other one is. . ."

"Yes? Come on, come on."

"The other one is you can't tie a knot to save yer filthy life."

Fortra ducked backwards, pulling his head out of the noose just before the knight holding the loop had a chance to pull it tight. On the way back, his head clanged into the other's helmet and sent him toppling into the crowd with stars circling in front of his eyes, but the disorientation of the sudden impact didn't stop him well enough to keep Fortra from standing up and weaving through the crowd like a needle. As he ran, his hands feverishly undid the twisted rope around his wrists, his long and nimble fingers as well as his teeth ripping the fibers from one another like a rabid rabbit.

He could hear the knghts giving chase, the damn Hokuten almost like terriers, the way they never let their prey go. Duck and weave, Fortra. Duck and weave, and you might just see your kid brother again. Whipping sideways into an alleyway, he caught himself a little breather. The knights were all in plate mail, and the mages wouldn't run faster than the knights if they could help it. As it was, the crowd probably gave him some cover and the Hokuten might just pass him by completely. As he stood there, listening to the knights get totally misdirected in the mass of people, he grinned. At least, he did until he heard a clatter by his feet. Someone had dropped a package next to him with a note.

_Corporal Fortra, this is your bow, and I have included several arrows. I am sorry for the abrupt mission briefing, but one of the knights who are looking for you happens to be Captain Oscaji. This man is highly dangerous to the Death Corp, as he is very close to finding two of our hideouts. If this revolution is to succeed, he must be eliminated. Corporal Fortra, you know what to do. Make your way back to the 'deserted mouse' base when you are done._

_-Miluda_

"Gotcha" Frotra whispered under his breath as he picked up the package. Okay, plan of action. . . rooftops. There was a ladder that lead from the rather tight alleyway to a southern rooftop, a couple stories higher than most of the other buildings. Having exited the crowd, the Hokuten would probably have doubled back, making the alleyway a very bad place to be. Gripping the paper of the parcel in his teeth, one hand gripped a rung, followed by another in a very fast climb to the top.

The roof he'd chosen was actually a very nice place to be, at the moment. The edge of the roof actually extended up a foot, giving a sniper quite a nice place to hide from enemy fire. Ripping open the package, he withdrew a long, bent rod of beautiful mythril steel. This wasn't his bow, his bow was simple wood, and one this size and make was surely far more expensive. Then again, his bow probably had been confiscated. There was no reason to criticize a better bow, now, was there?

Peering out over the edge, it was no trouble at all to distinguish the captain from the rest of his group. Gold armor tended to stand out when everyone else wore dull steel. The trick to sniping, however, was finding the perfect moment. If he fired at the wrong time, not all of the reaction time skills in the world could save him from being spotted. One long yellow-feathered arrow was fitted to the string, the bow itself requiring almost no strength to pull back despite how strong a metal it was made of. Fortra sighted, and waited. . .

NOW!

Fingers pulled away from the string with a suddenness that would have startled someone who wasn't a skilled archer, the string sending the aerial spike tearing through the wind and air as if all of hell wanted it to stop. There was a thud, a scream, and all the knights spun to face their stricken leader.

"Captain! Captain, are you all right?"

"My back. . . something's hit. . . me. . ."

Lieutenant Ganarad and his squad of elite knights searched and searched, but they never did find the source of the arrow, nor did they find that amazing gallows escapee.

It was a sad day for the Hokuten.


	4. The Knight

Review Responses:

Thanks much for reviewing 2sidez! In fact, I plan to keep this up at _least_ until I get through (most of) the basic classes (I don't think I'll write one for Calculator or Mime, though.).

It only takes around five minutes to write a review! The more reviews I get, the faster I write, don't forget!

The Knight

Sir. Sir, Sir, Sir. She was a Sir now, because of her damn first name. You would think that a female knight would get a different title, wouldn't you? One couldn't help but think that after four major engagements with the Hokuten, and a full knighthood within the Nanten, they would give her a Lady. But no, someone messed up with the papers, so she was stuck with Sir.

It was too bad, really. Now she was known as Sir Samantha Irile, and it didn't help that her nickname was Sam. She really should head up to the capital some day and get the damn lawyers up there to change her name. Sir Sam. She sounded like a theatre character, rather than a knight of the noble line of Irile. It didn't help that her watchmate, Sir Guberre, reminded her of this little fact every second he could to make the time pass. They did _not _get along well, even if they both worked under the great Sir Orlandu. There had already been a couple fights that needed to be broken up, one involving a fork being thrown near Guberre's jugular.

Arvad had seen both of these happen, though he was always too smart to get involved. Archers were always more sensitive to danger than knights were. It came from being far away from combat firing arrows, rather than in the middle of it, swinging swords.

"So whater'yoo lukin' at fer the dinner table tonight, Sammie?"

"Why don't you bring a book or something, instead of pestering me with your childish antics? My name is not Sammie. To my friends, yes, but to YOU it's Sir Irile, a name that goes farther than yours ever will."

"Sir, is it? Damn, an' here I thought I saw a pair of breasts beaten into that cuirass o' yours. Yeh should'a stayed a squire, or gone into that priestly stuff so's yeh at least git tah wear a dress."

Still not turning around to stare his pimpled mug eye to eye, Sam stared out over the parapet of Zeltennia Castle. She knew that if she chose to see that glimmer of humor in that ghoulish mask she wouldn't be able to control herself. It was only her that he bothered, and only when they were sitting in these rather comfortable chairs on top of this wall.

"The priests wear a robe, Sir Guberre, and at least I can show respect to the kind soul who has the skill and blessing of the lord to patch me up after a long battle."

"That god stuff isa load've hogwash, that is. You know it, and I know it aswell. They don't get their magic from none other than the same source that is the fire-flingers' either."

Arvad inhaled sharply. Guberre had not only just committed heresy and blasphemy, he had also touched on one of Sam's most volatile feelings. Sam's mother had been a member of the Nanten Life, a corp of units dedicated to keeping the army on its legs through the bandage and the prayer. Sam gritted her teeth, trying to keep her hand from going to her sword as her neck stayed rigidly still.

"I don't think I managed to grasp your grammar, Sir Guberre. It sounded to me like you just said that God wasn't on my mother's side, on the side of the same group that kept your dad alive for ten years after your sorry hide was born."

"There AIN'T no GOD, Sammie. Bitch you may be, an' probably a dyke at that, bein' called sir, but I think yeh could've figured THAT one out. I dun' give two damns about my father, Yer mum can go suck sugared meat in hell, and I SPIT in the direction of you, as a girly knight."

That DID it. This imbecile had just besmirched her honor a total of three times in the past hour. Not only that, but he'd committed one of the worst forms of heresy and damned her mother in the process, just to get a rise out of her so he could pass the time with a sword fight, the bastard. He didn't deserve to live any longer, to ruin both her family's and his family's name for sport.

Sir Samantha Irile stood up, and turned precisely ninety degrees to her right. There was a form to be observed, even in the execution of a duty such as this. Her right hand crossed her chest below rib-line, gripping the hilt of her sword in it's scabbard. A quick motion, from left to right, and the sword was pointed directly at the lanky man in plate mail who lounged in the padded chair ten feet away.

"Arvad, will you serve for a witness to the words that this heretic has said, that he has called blatantly for his own death?"

"I will, Sir Samantha."

"Then draw, heretic, and let the church's justice be called forth, in this duel."

He stood, seeming to slouch even in that worked metal case and bucket masquerading as armor. It would be his claymore against her longsword, and neither of them used shields. Not an even match, not by far.

"Oh, come on, princess. You can't let my jab get so far up your tush as that. Really, our watch is over in two minutes, I was just havin' atcha. No, I tell a lie, there. It'd be a really good feelin', for me the see yer head up here on the end o' my sword."

"Have at thee!"

But Guberre swung first, catching Sam by surprise as it grazed her ear and clanged off the stonework. As she swung her own blade, however, Guberre ducked just low enough that her edge skipped across the open-faced steel helm. It was all she could do, to bank the upswinging edge of his claymore off the flat of her hastily-pulled-back blade, but his hand disengaged and pushed against her left shoulder to make her stumble backwards and give him some breathing room. Or at least, that's what she thought at first.

It wasn't until she swung again, missing because of the range difference after stumbling back, that she noticedhe'd stuck a dagger into her arm socket. That's when she felt the pain. She didn't scream even thoughit was horrendous, but she didn't dare pull it out, because he'd seize the opportunity to cut her down. Her right hand never leaving her sword, she let the other dangle at her side. There was definitely some poison on that blade, and it was fast acting, judging by the way she was already feeling very intoxicated. Then again, it could have just been because it was so close to her heart.

"You... that was dirty..."

"Oh come on, like you've never had a prick before, SI-"

It was a mad jab with her good arm from the right side, aimed right at his chest. It was almost too good to be true that he couldn't talk and guard at the same time. Sam's edge pierced steel, linen, quilted cloth, then flesh, bone, spirit and soul. It was her last action before she lost consciousness entirely, to withdraw the blade. As she did, Arvad's voice sounded very close, and very welcome.

"Don't worry, Sir Samantha. We'll get a healer up here, and we'll add black market dealing as well as poisoning to his list of crimes."


	5. The Priest

Review Response Time!

2sidez & Samecoin: Yeah he did. I'm glad you two like it! don't forget to let me know if any of the characters really catch your eye! If you happen to really identify with one (or just want to see more) just yell or throw things and I'll see if I can write a separate story!

Shon: You didn't have a story, so I couldn't review back:(

Oh well. Thank you so much for reviewing, I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Read on! And before you ask, YES I think the Hokuten are corrupt (who wasn't?) and are EEEEEVIL. So there you go. There will be definitely some Hokuten+ stories, though. Also, I apologize profusely for my long absence. College isn't very easy, heh.

The Priest

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"It is not customary to bring blades into a church of god, my sons."

"This is no longer a church of god, false priest. You forget why we have come."

"You have not told me why you have come, or to what reason you call me false priest."

"You know why Cardinal Draclau has sent us. You are a sinner, but sinners are not stupid."

"The Holy Stone story. Aye, I know that well enough. Draclau ordered me to teach the story, to tell of our 'efforts' and I refused."

"And so he has ordered us to deliver your sentence immediately, as well as to your village."

"The cardinal is drunk with power, my son… Please, listen to me."

"I will not, false priest."

The smell of brimstone filled the air inside the charred and burning church. The heat was enormous, though it was truly only the roof that was on fire, so far. He would not have let these men enter with their weapons, so they had loosed fire arrows into the roof, forcing Father Walker to open the doors to these three men. One was obviously a knight, while the other two were powerful mages of the dark arts.

"You are making a grave mistake. Threatening the lives of my charges will not gain you any leeway with my departure."

"We threaten nothing priest. All we have to offer are promises, as we know of no other way to act. No lies, no untruths."

"As of yet, I see no reason to trust those who would follow a man with greed as a bible."

Sergeant Valiu nodded his red-bearded helmed head lightly, gesturing off in the distance. There was a sensation of commotion outside the churches' doors, and unseen hands in the night thrust poor Meda into the aisle. Valiu reached down to the six-year-old girl, pulling her up by the back of her shirt. Her yelps of pain from the cutting fabric into her neck and crying did not deter him from speaking to the now-stunned priest of the burning church.

"This girl is one of the twelve remaining people in this Neanderthal pit you call a town. My men have taken care of the rest, and are rapidly searching for the others. This girl's parents are dead, and you know she has quite a large chance of being unshriven. Though she is a child, she will nonetheless go to hell. We were to kill her quickly, but your uncooperativeness has forced us to try stronger methods of persuasion. You possess powers that few others do, Father. My men and mages could not hope to bring you down. That is why we ask you to submit to a simple beheading, rather than see the slow death of a girl who deserves a fast one, and a battle that could very well injure us."

"I... Meda... you… you demons… let her go."

This statement was punctuated loudly by a rafter, falling from the ceiling to the floor. It was good foresight that the priest had commissioned a friend of his to render his home magically fire resistant... it would have been better to fireproof it.

"We will not, Father Walker. She has been the victim of your teachings, and they have already begun to rot her mind. Killing her is a mercy. Still, we would rather do it quickly, rather than call her any undue suffering. We offer you this choice, Father."

Walker put a hand to his bald head as he bowed it solemnly, knowing full well that the knight was not joking. Indeed, the two mages looked as stalwart as he, beneath their wide straw hats. In truth, he did not believe that the three were here for him… nor his town. He had found something. Something the church wanted to have. On a chain around his neck... perhaps he could give it, to save... at least a few people, if not him.

"You... Draclau sent you for the stone. Games aside, that is why you are here."

"Perhaps. Is this to say that you, indeed, have one of these rare things?"

"I do... You propose a bargain, in which case I lose either way out... But mayhap I could suggest another. Let go of Meda. You may prevent her from leaving, but at least let her down..."

The squirming girl was dropped to the floor, possibly bruising her knee as Valiu crossed his armored hands. With a cry of terror, the Father was now clutched, tears darkening what was remaining bright in his soot-stained robes.

"Thank y-"

"Your proposition, Father."

"Yes... I give you the Holy Stone, and willingly go to the guillotine... but only if my remaining villagers are spared, and you find a **good** home for Meda. I will agree on no other terms. These people are without sin… as hard a group of workers you will ever find… they have love for one another."

"You realize, even holding the urchin as you do now, that you are in no position to bargain."

"And yet you seem content to allow me to do so, while you stand with a pair of well-learned mages, I've no doubt, as well as you yourself protected."

"...I-"

One of the shadowed faces leaned forwards, whispering into the knight's ear… something urgent.

"...Yes, yes, you are right. I agree, Priest... where is the Holy Stone?"

"I have it on my person... may the tainted king have you."

"Thank you. Eben, take the stone from the man."

A mage stepped forwards, one hand held out. The stone... the Tainted King was slipped off from around the Priest's neck and into his waiting grip. Once pocketed, the mage stepped back into his original position, beside Valiu. The knight clapped once, seemingly ecstatic behind his heavy moustache.

"Good, good... We have what we want. Unfortunately, I believe that your bartering has come late... you no longer have a flock to protect, Father. I do hope you understand. My squad is very thorough. My Sergeant here, Jeil, is quite telepathic. What a release it is, to not have to deal with battlefield runners... they die quite often."

"Priest though I am, I ask God that you all burn in Hell for this..."

"That is enough. Eben, the girl."

It was over in a moment, though perhaps even dying Balbanes could have felt the backlash of the power. They called the spell Death, one which no man could have without spending quite a considerable time learning... though, once taken, had a horrid power. Screams of the dead sounded, for mere seconds... and Meda was limp, her pale form hitting the floor next to the horrified Father Walker. His face turned back, vision swimming with anger and sorrow, as Valiu gestured to the other mage, Jeil, to do the same with the priest. How the man could even stand, was a miracle... one whole day of knights beating on his door, and now this... everyone was dead... And he had just watched poor Meda fall victim to... Dead. Meda was dead. Everyone was dead now.

Dead.

Dead.

_Dead_.

Jeil was the first to run, as the white-robed elderly mage raised his hands to the sky, uttering prayers of anger. Eben followed suit, spotting his brothers' panic. Valiu, however, remained still, unaware that his bodyguards had run off with the stone. What power could truly pierce his armor? He was quite certain that his shell could easily counter it. But still Walker continued, his hands glowing with a power greater than many could even hope to muster.

Many accounts of the story have been told, and the two mages themselves have told plenty more versions of the death of their commanding officer. Only a few facts are true, however. Sometime around twelve o' clock at night, a blinding white spear of utter brilliance spiked down from the sky and hit the village's church. Shortly after, it collapsed. Investigators found the body of a man in untouched armor, charred nearly to total ash and held together by coincidence. Under much more rubble was the crouched and crushed body of an elderly man, in robes that were once white. Under him was the untouched body of a small girl in a ragged dress, dead but untouched. Noone can say what it was… neither the cause of her death, nor the cause of the knight's death.

One year later (the nearby villages feared it to be haunted, and would be proven right soon), the town was suddenly overridden with undead, ghosts and skeletons. They were reported to be carrying out rotten bodies, body parts, and various items of value. Two days later, they were gone as well, every house ransacked.

Perhaps this is an urban legend, told and re-told again to the point that many of the facts are askew, or do not fit quite right... but many people still tell of a graveyard, out in the middle of a forest, where flowers surround gravestones and the open clearing seems almost blessed by the heavens merely for existing. Skeletons lie in the open air, some carrying shovels, chisels, hammers or wearing capes that emblazon insignia of nations long gone, and oft-forgotten. The graves' names (in ancient, forgotten and unreadable script) are carved not by living hands, perfectly chiseled with no fault, as if by men who know naught but patience, upon grey marble slabs that appear otherworldly, only half-there. They are all clumped together, not a grave off by itself.


	6. The Wizard

Whoo-hoo! Another chapter, another class... but first, Review Responses!

Mastery: Oracle, Geomancer, Samurai and (specifically) female Lancer, hmm? I'm interested… any particular reasons? At any rate, I'm glad you like it!

Hmm… ideas… anyway, next chapter! ...It's time for a dose of malicious bloodshed.

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Chapter 6: Black Mage

"_Diebe im Auge des Sturms"_

Henverge... a small town, home to a mere hundred fifty people. Visitors were infrequent to the inhabitants, even from relatives (except in very particular cases). People came here because they wanted to be forgotten... left alone... multitudes of miles from any other civilized area, the place kept its residents fed and comfortable by the seldom-arriving caravans as well as small privately-owned farms and a small-scale if-you-need-it-here-it-is economy. One family in particular had raised a pair of mages, and sent them off to the academy to learn more, so the place wasn't all rural in mindset.

Nearly nothing near the village for miles around... Naught but a rather wide path, fashioned of dirt and oftentimes mud. A streak of brown in a world of green... naught but the caravans had traveled the road for perhaps a few months... and never, certainly, on foot. Lone roads like the one mentioned left many vulnerable to attack… a note that bandits took down, and travelers underlined. This was why it was so odd to see the one figure lightly hiking its way down the strip of tan on the horizon, seemingly unaware of the encampment a mere kilometer in front of it, even with its wide-brimmed straw hat obviously able to see the small, sprawling tents. Either it was foolhardy, or it simply had the knowledge that any of them could have seen it, as well. Bandits... at least seven of them. Regardless, the tall, blue-robed figure strutted directly between the two halves of the camp, following the straight line of the road.

"Oy, oy... Where you think you might be goin'? Eh?"

One of the green-hatted teens un-leaned from a tent pole, brushing a hair from his vision and tucking it behind his ear as he stepped to the side of the striding figure. "Yeh know, there ain't no passin' though here wi'out payin' the road toll..."

This sentence was followed up by a round six joining the speaker, men and women alike making a rough circle around the traveler. "So we'll be having it, then... anythin' money or magical... er..."

The figure did not visibly move once, face and hair hidden under the hat, which seemed to darken everything under it almost eerily. Hands were hidden in the sleeves, and the robe was pulled tight around it... all the black mages wore the same uniform, the same clothes that allowed one to recognize another. This particular one, however, had no individual fabric designs, no embroidery on the fabric or ribbons about the hat. A student of the academy... but any other mage could tell that it was certainly a promising one.

The spell of stalemate was broken when the bold speaker stepped out of the crowd from behind the mage, placing a hand on the shoulder of their supposed newest victim. "Be reasonable, either you give us yer crap, or we take it annyways, then sell yeh on th' black mar-"

"_Don't touch me."_

Later, it was unclear whether the girl's words had done it, or whether it was simply a spell, but Kedri's hand pulled away from her shoulder so fast that the shoulder socket's tendons ripped, the arm becoming useless. A scream... surprised and shrieking, as he stumbled backwards and almost fell over. It was an instant later, that a waiting sniper behind a tent flap fired the carefully-aimed arrow-

"_First Fire."_

-which incinerated in mid-flight, the arrowhead sent spinning along the shaft's trajectory only to fall to the ground, inches from the mage's brown-booted foot-

"_Second Bolt."_

-and it was the archer's turn to squelp in fear, the noise abruptly cut short by a deadly shaft of electricity. In a mere four seconds had this happened, and just now the circle of bandits was coming out of its stupor. The biggest among them, a huge woman that everyone called Eb, stepped forwards and drew a hefty broadsword, an ugly frown on her scarred face. "Cut the shite out, missy... we ain't gonna leave yeh alone just 'cause you know a few clown tricks. Yeh got one more second teh giveup easy-like... o' course, poor Kedri's arm is gonna cost you, and so's Feddu's miserable li-"

"_**Clown tricks?"**_

The stranger's hand went to her hat, flinging it aside to give her a better field of vision. Platinum blonde hair tumbled waist-length out of the crown, down the back to reveal near pearl-white skin, red eyes and black lips on a near-flawless face, a tapestry of gorgeous death. The black lips were another trademark of the Wizards, a byproduct of the magicks they studied and practiced. Not all black mages were evil, or even particularly odd... In fact, most were generally amiable, simple practitioners of the art, though they still had the byproducts, as well as the clothes. White skin, hair, and red eyes, however, were something else entirely... "St. Ajora... she's cursed! She's got the curse of the albino, she has!"

"_**Clown tricks! **...HeheheHeehahaha! What a toad you are! May you be the prey you make of others..."_

Eb was tugged forwards by forces seeming to originate from something akin to gravity, towards the Mage's outstretched hand, that horrific laugh echoing off the campsite, the equally terrifying smile freezing solid any soul not already fearful of the discordant, vibrating, ethereal voice. Arms and armor fell away as Eb's form shrunk, toughened, and became webbed... and Eb the toad came to rest in the pale girl's palm, quivering, too panicked to even attempt to escape. "Hey... HEY! Y-you bitch! Let Eb go or… o-or we'll cut you down!"

"_I'm disappointed in you... the ones before you had so much more bravado... but here you all stand, too cowardly to brave a single wizard's defenses? Her loss, I suppose."_

Ivory teeth closed on the clutched creature's skull, ignoring the creature's squeal of agony as sharp jaw pulled head from torso, blood and spinal fluids spraying her chin. Ebony lips frowned and her head turned to spit the lurid and leaking part upon the ground. Making a face with her pink tongue out, her hand wiped away the gore on her cheek and chin.

"_What a sad, sorry excuse for a snack... Honestly, how could you live with yourself, knowing you taste as if you had rolled in something nasty? ...If only you were a tree frog, or something appetizing. Here, you can have her... ugh."_

A flick of the wrist sent the amphibian's corpse tumbling through the air, reverting to its original-yet-headless-and-gushing shape as it rolled to the feet of a hapless thief. A moment of recognition, and the girl fell backwards in attempt to scramble away in sheer horror. Four remained , still surrounding the dark figure, the near-petrified thief girl and Kedri watching from the sidelines, too scared to act... and a second of decision was all it took for the still-standing to run at her from all sides, knives and swords drawn.-

"_Flare."_

-and an explosion rocked the area, charred bodies arcing into the air in all four compass directions. She turned, red eyes and wide smile beaming fear directly into Kedri's soul...

"_By the way, my name is Latii... I don't have a title yet, so just Latii will have to do... It was nice to meet you."_

Latii stooped over to pick up her hat, brushed it off, tucked her hair back inside the crown and placed it on her head... and the traveler continued on her way as the disabled Kedri held onto the shivering thief, attempting to calm her down.

Some Magi of the Black are quite normal practitioners... Some are eccentric... some are a little twisted... some are quite insane... but the most dangerous are downright batshit-fucking-nutcase-bonkers.


	7. The Thief

Review Response time! Whoo! For once I'm writing at a GOOD hour!

Mastery: I'll do my best… remember that I'm always open to ideas. I'm glad you still like it!

2sidez: Who can look into the abyss without the fear of it looking back? …I'm glad you're enjoying my mini-stories!

MidKnight: Sent you an E-mail (three… I'm not great at E-mail, unfortunately.), and, as before, It's nice to know people like what I'm doing!

Shon: Writers make the world, Critics weed out the fuzzy edges of it's reality… I'm going to sound more repetitive and say THANK YOU for reviewing! …I'm glad you like it.

And now, the yap stops and I write something actually worth staring at blankly-er… reading. Hopefully.

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Chapter 7: The Thief

_"Blinken Sie Nicht"_

The last two pairs of eyes watched the form stride off in the direction of the town, not moving for fear of being noticed again in an unmerciful light. It was a wonder Kedri managed to keep quiet, as the sheer amount of pain would have had many people on the ground, writhing by now. The fact that the girl was holding onto him wasn't helping matters much, either... but the green-clothed boy waited until the figure was fully gone from sight before saying anything to her.

"Liddy… Liddy, get offa me… the bitch is gone, and yer lying on my arm… kind'a hurts."

An understatement, but the bandana'd thief leaned off him quickly, hands to her mouth… and ran off to find some of the encampments' healing supplies. Liddy wasn't the most world-knowledged girl ever, but she was helpful, and liked to be, as well as very fast with her hands if a merchant with a lot of glitter was nearby. Bright-eyed, fast-tongued Kedri tended to be more of a wordy, slight-of-handed and signature-forging sort of thief... What better way to rob someone than to sell them things that weren't his to give away?

As Kedri drank one of the smaller potions Liddy had brought back, he couldn't help but wonder how they all had gone wrong… …note to self, never insult the magic arts. Now all he and Liddy had between them was a deck of marked cards, a number of varying potions and antidotes, as well as their weapons and a smidgeon of cash… the next choice of action was simple enough to discern…

"Kedri? …We're going to be okay, right? I mean… it was…"

"Worried we lost ar edge from bein' in such a big group?"

"That… and I know we can't get attached to people much in our line of work, but… I miss them… it was like having a family or something… looking out for each other like that."

"I know what ya mean. Wi'll beh fine… Ah got a plan already."

"…can I ask?"

"Poker… people nevah sit down to a one-on one game, but evrebuddy and his buddy'll sit down against two… an' I'm damn good with marked cards. Make things look grim for us, taunt 'em into raising into everythin' they got… nail'em. Haven't been caught at it yet… hell, we should do better with two people now."

"…I've never used cards to get my money…"

"Let's spend today learnin' you, then… tomorrow we'll go out to the nearest town other than the one the witch is headed for, then run out like the bandits we are one we robbed everybody naked."

"…heh… we'll be fine then… thanks, Kedri…"

It was tough to keep the wounded arm from being smushed by the clingy, teary-eyed girl, but Kedri hadn't gotten this far (barring the incident earlier that day) without feeling a small bit of sympathy for his comrades now and then.

---

"I'll fold. Again. I swear, one day of teachin' an' yer playin' better than me…"

"I'm using the specials… trying to get more practice in."

"That'd be it, then… agh, St. Ajora… can't a guy have a straight game o' cards withya?"

"Heehee… sorry."

The tavern was an old one, on the outskirts of Poldetton. The Broken Spoke… an apt name, if unorthodox. The beer was watered down, some of the tables were split in half, and the barkeep was busy cleaning out the mugs with a rag that, against all reason, was steadily making them dirtier. The wooden buckets under the leaks in the molding roofs looked better to drink out of… but the two playing cards in hushed tones weren't thinking about downing anything. Their minds were almost exclusively into the cards in their hands… at least, until the doors opened wide from the force of a tall, stocky man in plate mail… the friendly face instantaneously plopped down to the table, directly across from the two. They were the only three in the place… other than the barkeep, who absentmindedly blew his nose into the cloth in his hands.

"Some leave this is… the only tavern for miles is a DUMP… damn the commander's wife, eh? Eh?"

Kedri only nodded and smiled at the man's elbow nudge, the cards placed face-down on the table as he turned to face the mustached man.

"Yeh certainly gotta story to tell, I can see… Le'ss hear it, ol' man."

"Eh? Whazzat? Ya got a thick accent on you… can barely make it out. Ya from Ivalice, then?"

Kedri had run into this problem before… but had never handled it in the way Liddy did.

"Yes… actually, he was inviting you to play a game of cards with us… it's only been us for so long, and we're getting slightly bored. We had hoped to make a little money before setting out, but since we're only trading our coins back and forth nothing is happening. I'm sure a strong-willed, perceptive man like yourself wouldn't say no to a little gambling?"

Kedri almost stared open-mouthed at the girl… but kept the surprise to himself. Perhaps a duo had more positives than he'd thought originally… he hadn't thought she had that much charm in her… was that why he'd let her come with him from the beginning?

…maybe so.

"Well, I couldna say no to that. I've only got a soldier's pay tho'…"

---

Three hours later, the two thieves were down fifty gold, the original soldier and his five recently-arrived combatmates grinning so wide it looked as if their heads would fall off. Kedri sighed gently, folding as he stared directly into the ginormous man's eyes from across the table…

"Alrih, yeh win this round I guess… I got nuthin', an' not enough left teh pay for a cream in Dorter back home… what say we each pu' it al up fer grabs, then declah' victor? You win, yeh get the rest of our cash an' a pair of squires the help yeh buckle on yer armors inna mornin', though we'd be travelin' with yeh, so yeh'd have teh feed us, until we got back teh Dorter. We win, we get the coins and give you any potions we got… Battlemongers like yerselves can' take any flesh stitching yeh can get, I know that. Neither of us lose out either way… not much, at least. No fold, or the like. Three hands, two teams, Me an' Liddy against yer valiant sword arms… two wins call victory."

"Kedri said-"

"I got what he said well enough, lass, don't fret yer pretty self about it… I'm startin' te unnerstan' the man. What say you lads?"

There was a chorus of ayes, and new hands were dealt eagerly… how could you refuse, when either way you mostly won? There was no denying that the two green-toned teens had the blue goods on them, as they had been offered up in betting a few times… and with healing supplies scarce this far away from Magic City Gariland, the offer was tempting beyond belief… and so was the idea of willing aids in the morning, to care for the chocobo so the knights themselves did not have to. Besides, new cash would always be made in their business, even if it wasn't always on time…

…but twenty minutes later, Kedri's side of the table graced them all with the quad-queens of victory, and a sigh of relief… what an end, especially after one of the shorter members of the mustached mob won the second round with two high pairs.

---

"Two hun'red gold, Liddy…"

"Yeah, that's what it counts up to."

"Two hun'red gold, Liddy…"

"Yes, Kedri…"

"Two _hun'red_ gold, Liddy…"

"That's what it is…"

"Two-"

"I'm going to make you eat your hat, you know that, right?"

"…I say weh shud go an' buy a house… runnit asa guild… a guild, where we like… I dunno, do SOMETHIN' good…"

"It's a good idea, but two hundred gold isn't going to get us that far… it would barely get us back to Ivalice."

"Yeh, but we're bound to get there _eventchaly,_ righ'?"

"Most definitely… but not lying on the roof of a moldy tavern in Poldetton…"

"Then weh hit the nex' town ovar… do that one ovar too… then the nex'… then the nex… an' by the time weh hit Zeltennia we're rich as Elmdor…"

"If we're gonna have a guild, it's gonna need a name…"

"The Corp… neh, that's too poncey."

"I like it… but yeah, it needs something… maybe The Commoners' Corp…"

"Pfft, no.. too long ta' say… but somethin' along those lines… but I think I'd know what we do…"

"Hmm?"

"Keep good-fer-nuthin' nobles from pushin' around people like us… people who dun' got castles an' stuff. A secret-type group… like, we dun' do anythin' till we got, like a couple differen' bases an' stuff, then the nobles dun' know what hit 'em…"

"… … think more in the morning… I'm getting tired."

"…Huh?"

Lidda had gone to sleep by the time he'd turned around, her head resting on his chest in a sort of hard way that made it seem like she wasn't going to move anytime soon. Kedri didn't have any sort of pillow, though… all in all, he guessed there could have been worse places to be anyway. Old wood was better than hard rock, and that.

"Death Corp, maybe. It's not like it hasta mean nuthin'. Besides, bein' a commoner, yeh might as well be dead anyway… brainless like the zombies. Brain-eatin' nobles… heh."

And Kedri Dedurick pulled his hat over the eyes, stretching lightly as his eyes closed for the night.


	8. The Samurai

Materia Knight: Yes, I know. Don't worry, you won't be disappointed… Samu comes next.

2sidez: I do too. It was hard to keep typing like that… I'm sure I slid his accent out a couple times on accident.

MidKnight: I thought that might catch someone's attention… I'm glad you're still liking it!

Lets hear it for inspiration. And no, I don't pretend to be an expert on Japanese culture. Flame me if you want to, I had fun writing it. So there.

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Chapter 8: Samurai

"_Die kunst des Blattes"_

"Naganuma-san… I thought… I thought we were allies… friends…"

"It promised me more than my alliance with you could ever give me, Kakori-sama."

Warjilis was always one of the stranger trade cities. People from all over the world happened there at least once, even if it was for a ship to restock it's supplies. It wasn't out of the ordinary to spot someone quite legendary there… Warjilis was an important place. It was also the most dangerous… if you attempted once to avoid someone in your life, you would find them there, if anywhere.

"So… it ends here then… you're going to kill me, aren't you."

"You'll only slow me down… it says that if I kill you now, I'll be able to carry out the plans unfettered… without anything holding me back."

This particular scene was on one of the city's flat roofs… it hadn't begun there, though. The flashing of swords in the night had begun in the streets, gradually making its way clear across the expanse of the city. Over boxes, through the empty night-time streets, through some poor woman's broken house… and finally, here.

"…do you care nothing about your honor? I valued you… I valued your very presence."

"You didn't have the skill to impress me… and honor is sought through power, not power through honor."

"You are… a fool for thinking so."

Two figures on the roof stared at one another, one disarmed and kneeling, the other standing with two short, bloody wakizashis… a black-clothed ninja, and a red-clothed samurai in broken armor. The ninja was obviously male from the hard tone of his voice, though most of the face had been wrapped in cloth and the lightest armor covred the chest, under the ebony fabric. The Samurai was female, though the fact couldn't be made readily apparent by her voice alone. Words were interspersed with choking and coughing up blood, most likely from the wounds Naganuma had inflicted. Her katana, Kikuichimoji, had fallen off the roof somewhere, and she lacked the strength now to retrieve it. What an end…

"A fool to believe the truth?"

"A fool… to rely on evil for your strength…"

"You are long-winded, Kakori-sama."

And she was a fool, she knew, for believing Naganuma would fight with the honor he said no longer existed within him… even now, his eyes blazed with the green of Serpentarius's light, the exact shade of color that hung from his neck on a small silver chain. Hidaeki, her teacher, had instructed her to never assume fairness in an opponent… in a question, of course. Kakori had a habit of answering his questions wrong, during that instruction…

---

"_Your teaching, as always, begins with a question. This is not your normal dojo, Kakori."_

"_You show me disrespect, Hidaeki-sensai? I have done nothing."_

"_My preference is my own. Your first question is why I use your name only. Answer it."_

"_I… I do not know, Hidaeki-sensai."_

"_You will learn."_

She burst out laughing, blood spraying from her cut lip, eyes closed at the memory… and even after she graduated, she felt as if she had learned nothing… Hidaeki-sama had ordered her to find her own answers in the world… it was really too bad this would be the end of her choice in the matter.

"Why do you laugh? You are about to die, Kakori-sama… if you value honor so much, you should do it silently."

"Because I am a fool, Naganuma… I thought spoken respect mattered, but I couldn't be more wrong. I thought appearance and being a symbol was important… but the deeds are the only thing that matter."

"_Kakori, how many arts of the katana exist?"_

"_Thirteen, for the zodiac? No, it must be ten, for the number of blades…"_

"_You know nothing of the answer, Kakori…"_

"I am a fool, Naganuma, because there is only one art of the katana… the blade is only your brush, and the katana does not refer only to the edge…"

"What the hell do you speak of?"

"_Kakori, which is more important: knowledge of yourself, knowledge of your foe, or knowledge of your blade?"_

"_Er… knowledge of the blade **and** the foe, sensei… one for what it can do, two for how to use it…"_

"_You are wrong, Kakori-baka."_

"I am a fool for there is always another foe, and you can never know everything about them… but you can always know yourself, if you try…"

"Have you gone insane, Kakori-sama? What a fitting end to you."

Kakori stood gently, her every joint protesting at this… one hand gently untied the knots binding her red-painted genji mail, the pieces falling to the stone of the rooftop as the small, broken smile on her green-eyed face never ceased.

"I think I am saner than I ever was, Serpentarius…"

The right-hand wakizashi came in a downwards stab, merciless in it's unerring speed towards Kakori's head… and the flat of the blade was caught between the palms of Kakori's hands, the smile still on her face. Firm hands pulled the weapon away from the stunned man, shifting her grip and taking the handle in both hands. It was shorter than she was used to… but that was fine. Think of it as a broken blade…

"What the… how did you… no!"

"I think we should… try this again…"

"But this isn't a fair fight. You're wounded!"

"That didn't stop you before Serpentarius… suddenly had a change of heart about this 'honor' thing you so despise?"

"Why are you CALLING me that?"

"Because I'm not fighting Naganuma… I'm fighting that rock."

The rush was fast, his remaining blade coming at chest height as tabi'd feet barely made any noise on the rooftop… and it was stopped by a firm hilt to the head and a sandal to the stomach. Pushed away, he coughed and sputtered for air…

"Stop using Naganuma's moves and let me fight you."

"You're not giving me a lot of choice, I see…"

"Honor is useless… the deed is the thing."

"Then we shall battle on those terms."

Was it just the imagination, or did the rooftop get darker? It seemed almost solid, somehow… one couldn't see the street anymore, from where they were. It felt sealed off… caged. Still, Kakori wasn't caught terribly off-guard when several demons materialized out of the stuff… weird, misshapen things of seemingly random origin, grotesque and disgusting by anyone's standards. Serpentarius… Naganuma… whatever his name, he seemed to have recovered himself. Stray black hairs of long length were pushed out of Kakori's face, her feet grinding into the rooftop as she steeled her broken body…

"Round two, then. Let this be the last one, Kakori-sama."

But he made no action… the demons screamed, howled, echoed through the night as they rushed and leapt for Kakori Sato's now-unprotected throat. It was a hellish noise, something from the nightmares of madmen. None, however, were as loud as Kakori's silence. It rained monsters, then limbs… black ichor speckled and painted the roof, her makeshift brush decorating the ground upon which they stood. Finally the swarm ended, leaving a tired Kakori painted black herself…

Gently she turned her head, spitting more black onto the platform. It had a rancid taste… not that she'd meant to find out. One hand wiped the grimy liquid away from her eyes, refocusing on the ebony figure in front of her, silken in the enclosed darkness… and growing in her vision as her sandaled feet thunked the rooftop, Wakizashi held by her side for speed. Serpentarius's glowing emerald eyes widened visibly behind the black fabric, readying himself…

…and the blades met between them, grinding against one another as Kakori slashed upwards and he moved the edge to block it horizontally. The noise… like nails on a blackboard. Even unbendable as the weapons were, the snapback was immense. Sato twirled to redirect the momentum, spinning to the left as Serpentarius's hasty thrust cut at her grime-drenched robe, where she'd been but a second ago. Her second slash at head-height was spotted, his head ducking underneath it. As he came up again, the blade did too, point first…

…only Kakori wasn't nearly as close as he'd thought she was. Fast movement had taken her several steps back, Wakizashi replaced at her side with the handle pointing towards her target. He'd been left wide open from his upwards stab, the edge nowhere near close enough to his chest to defend as her second rush brought her close in, the edge spinning to face forwards with the point plunged deeply into his chest… twin blade dropped from Serpentarius's hands as he stared incredulously.

"You… I… no… imposs…"

"Sorry, Naganuma… you will be given proper ceremony, I swear it…"

In her teachings, there had been one question that she'd correctly answered the first time…

"_Kakori-baka, I have taught you that respect is useless… and yet you still call me sensei. I will ignore this if you can possibly give me an example of respect that must be given."_

"_You must show respect to your friends, sensei… it is important, for your friends are the only ones who will always be on your side."_

"_But what if that friend were to turn on you, of his own volition?"_

"_Then you should find out why… but your friend that person remains."_

"_Under what circumstances would a person cease to be your friend?"_

"_When the person ceases to be that person, sensei."_


	9. The Monk

Wow. About time I updated, yes? Hmm… about that:

ReAdErReSpOnSeS!

FlyHigh4Life: Female summoner, eh? Everyone loves the femme fatales (Bad, I know. Couldn't help myself)… I'll do my best! I'm glad you like it.

Ruainin Teilene: Thanks for the criticism, and steal the idea if you want to! Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and if I can provide any sort of inspiration then I'd love to read them! In fact, use the characters if you want. Thank you for reading!

Mastari: Hats off to you for reviewing! Thank you very much, and I hope you like the latest chapter!

Melomancer(x2!): Lancers, oracles, and summoners. I guess it's only a matter of time before I'm asked for a womanly Oracle… I'm running out of male chances! Thank you for reviewing, and I'm glad you enjoyed it!

2sidez: Whoo-hoo, still along for the ride! Glad you're still loving them!

And now, the chapter begins… but first, the shameless plugging of a game called Wizardry: Tale of the forsaken land

…play it.

This one has a little lighter fare…

---

Chapter 9: The Monk

"_fünf-fingriger Tod"_

---

_He'd been promised a fortune._

The sand churned under his bare feet as he circled his opponent. The man he faced was an ogre's size, easily twice his own. He was not scared. Wickton 'Wick' Silversmith had a goal, and his medium-sized, well-toned frame did not falter once.

_He'd been promised women._

He knew his opponent did not have a name worth knowing. He'd heard the crowd shout various monikers, among them Beast, Man-eater, Slayer, and Anvil. The monstrous man was covered in black leather straps and gigantic, gleaming spikes, with an enormous axe in his right hand. Wick had no weapon. Wick was the weapon.

_He'd been promised a mansion._

Calm hands reached up and tied a sand-encrusted headband around his top, making his brick-colored hair stand nearly straight up. Knees crouched, shoulders loose, hands to his side, and away, Wick waited for the first move of the behemoth.

_He'd been promised even his old life back._

Wick had never been tempted to even take the offers, mostly because his old life was nothing special. Shael Silversmith, his brother, owed the local gambling lord money, and currently sat in his cells. Wickton fought in the sandy, palisade-walled arena for him, and him alone. His first opponent of the day, this 'beast', would go down like a tree before the day was out.

_Wick had his _own_ promise._

The crabways dance was abruptly ended, the muscle-bound monster of a man raising the axe high above his head, spinning it so the edge faced Wick as he roared. Muscles tensed, trying to change the unstoppable axe's direction to smash the puny insect that DARED enter the arena, his turf, in hopes of beating him… Tendons creaked, veins pulsed, eyes bulged and vocal cords boomed throughout the pit…

_Wickton uncoiled._

"Hame-do"

The boy was first one place, then suddenly directly in front of the Beast with an open palm placed directly against the over-muscled chest. A sonic boom rocked the palisade walls, the crowd nearly knocked from the balconies surrounding it. Beast's ribcage caved in, shards of bone nearly piercing the heart of the man. Down he went with a roar, axe dropping from his fingers to land edge-first in the orange grains… and Beast came down on top of it, fatally skewered by his own blade.

"What? How? How did you kill him that fast? It's impossible!"

"Lord Tax, if I may have my next opponent..." Wick's yawning vocal cords seemed oddly loud in the stadium...

"You... you are weary. Go and rest, you will have another opponent tomorrow."

"I am hardly spent, and without wounds. I earn cash multipliers by multiple opponents, yes? Give me another one, I am ready."

The crowd's myriad calls of blood rang out in the arena, and 'Lord Tax' could not afford to disappoint his audience. Still, he'd set numerous bets against the boy, and couldn't afford to lose much more. He would need time to renegotiate his money...

"I will multiply your current winnings by three, if you rest now."

"I can hardly do that, when it will not cover the expense I wish to reach."

"It is for your own safety, boy."

"It is not for my brothers' safety. If you will not give me an opponent to fight, Lord Tax, I will fight _you_."

"Me? But there is no cash prize in defeating me."

"But I lay claim to your belongings, if you die."

"…very well. Bring in Tattoo!"

---

This new opponent was smaller, his own size. Black-toned, with eyes that spoke of anger, hatred, and fearlessness. She hated everything. Tattoo killed her opponents deliberately just to see them die. Tattoo was not human, in any sense of the word...

Tattoo was named for the markings on her beak, black lines forming odd patterns on the orange bone. Ebony feathers rustled as the regal-necked head turned towards her new prey… her new kill. Tattoo was a black chocobo, and she hadn't lost a match. The head shook, protesting the thick chain around her neck as two obese men ripped it free and hastily closed the door behind them, to stay out of her way. She screeched…

"You're… you're not serious." Wickton blinked a couple times, visibly taken aback by the pit-fighter.

"This is your opponent, boy. Die or leave, it is your choice."

"I…"

But Tattoo waited no longer. She was fast, she was strong, and she had perfected her technique. A headbutt to the ground, then a bite to the neck was all she needed, and the fight would be over quickly. Bird feet pounded the sand, closing in on Wick lightning-fast…

_Wick reacted._

…but she hadn't expected her beak to be grabbed, to be flung over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes and thrown to the sand on her back. She was further surprised when an elbow was dropped on her stomach, Wick following soon after and rolling to his feet as the bird scrabbled on the ground to regain her footing. Both tensed, Tattoo choking and gasping as Wick tried to regain his composure.

_Tattoo bit._

Not a parakeet's finger-severing crunch, but an eagle's arm-removing slice. The first one caught Wick's tight blue shirt, the second cutting his leg under his loose green pants. He stifled a yell of surprise, stumbling back as Tattoo pressed her attack. Fresh red now spattered the sand as each new bite barely grazed his ever-dodging body and face. The knifelike beak would kill him by vein-cutting alone…

_Wick spun._

To the side he went, disorienting the bird with tattered clothing and blood spraying out to the sides. The spin didn't stop once he'd reached the sides, a foot raising instead and thoroughly dizzying and blinding the bird with a head-rocking kick. She backed up as he dropped to the sand, arm held to staunch the flow of a few of his arm wounds.

_Tattoo panicked._

She couldn't see! She couldn't see! Her sight was gone! What had happened? Her sight was all she had left, other than her will to live, and now that it was gone, she would lose the other as well! She would die! …Hands on her face, a soothing touch with human thumbs massaging the muscles behind her eyes… what was the human doing? Couldn't he see she would KILL him if she could SEE him?

"Hush… I think you can understand me. Can you? …I'm going to talk anyway, and if you still want to kill me afterwards we can keep fighting it out. I have a plan that can get us both what we want… You want out of here, and I want my brother. Lets force Lord Tax's hand…"

Escape? …Tattoo had not thought of such a notion in quite some time. Her wings had been clipped, and there was no flying away. The idea had merit, though, and if it displeased her captor then she would eagerly do so. But how to let him know? Very few humans could understand the language of the 'monsters'. Tattoo stopped struggling, as her vision cleared, trying to think of a way to tell him…

"I thought you might like the idea. Just go along with me, okay?"

Tattoo warbled gently, a noise she had not made in years…

…and the crowd had gotten impatient. Lord Tax stood up, as blue eyes stared narrowly down into the pit as irritation radiated from his features. "What is the meaning of this, boy? I give you an opponent to fight, and you do not fight? There is no victor yet!"

"Give me my brother and Tattoo will let you keep your life."

She would? …Perhaps if it meant her freedom. …Ajora forbid she ever saw the man's lanky face again…

"She cannot get up here, boy. Her wings are worthless."

"I have a very strong throwing arm."

One hand dipped down to pull a small rock from the sand…

_Wickton threw._

One of the pillar-like wall sections cracked and splintered with the force of the stone, threatening to collapse. It would not harm the structure enough to collapse it, but his point was made. Tattoo doubted the boy bluffed… he would certainly not balk at throwing her on top of the wall. Frankly, she kind of liked the idea.

"What say you now, Lord Tax?"

"…bring the boy's brother. NOW."

"One other thing, Lord Tax…"

"WHAT?"

"…Tattoo goes with me."

"Are you insane, boy?"

"My next stone will be aimed at your head, Lord Tax."

_Wickton hurled._

And a wine cup shattered on the banquet table near Tax's hand, glass shards spattering the floor. Tattoo was liking the boy more and more, but she did not think much of leaving her 'master' alive. Events could still be worse, however.

"V-very well."

"Very well what? You _want_ your head burst like a melon?"

"No! uh-er.. take the bird with you."

The crowd roared, protesting this, as many had bets on the winner… but Tax calmed them, saying he would pay each of their bet winnings in full regardless their wager. He wanted to keep his audience… and

_Wickton left._

_---_

One year later, Lord Tax was found dead in his home, his throat cut by a wound that seemed not from any weapon. Black feathers surrounded his body, and many of his possessions were stolen. As only his window had been open, and none of the doors in his LOCKED house had been forced, the city watch could not find a possible culprit. It was later found that Lord Tax Ragoh and several other individuals were involved in illegal sports, gambling, and smuggling. The murder was immediately written down as the results of an underground dispute, and the arena was disbanded. Wickton, Shael and Tattoo have not been found to this day.


	10. The Lancer

College. It sucks. Free time is nonexistent. Someone help me, please…

…With that said, apologies to everyone for the long wait. I have no computer of my own, and the one containing the original copy of (The beginning of) this chapter has vanished with a friend of mine moving to LA. He alone knows what the fate of that document is…

Now: Review Response Time!

Mast: Check above. Apologies again… updates are going to be taking some time now.

Sn3kers: I enjoy the well-placed 3. I'll see what I can do… she'll probably show up in a later chapter, or a different story. Glad you're enjoying it!

Mast: They're all miscillanious phrases in English that I translated into German using babelfish… not really important to the story, but might provide a –little- insight. Maybe.

Melomancer: Your ideas intrigue me and I wish to know more. Note that instead of a juravis, Tattoo was a black chocobo. I'm glad you like the stories! E-mail me!

2sidez: Still with me! I hope the long wait didn't irritate too much… I need more free time. Glad you're still liking it! Do note that if you like someone and want to see more of them, then… well, you know the drill.

No plugging right now, must go to story… must… write… chaaapptteeeeeerrr…

Perseverance! I refuse to let the fans down! Raaah!

---

Chapter 10: The Lancer  
_"Tod von Oben"_

The stones. Throughout history, the stones were the strings pulled by power-hungry and greed-mad men and women. Alliances had been made and broken by swears upon them, and their true power was forgotten and remembered multiple times. Wars had been fought over the stones, and won with the stones. Lives had been lost and saved by the stones, damned and sainted by them. Many saw the stones as either good or evil, though neither were correct. The stones merely amplified what was within you… for good or ill.

"The stones were on my side"

"I swear, it was as if I'd held a stone"

"I could have sworn on the stones, it was so clear"

"By the stones, I've never seen such a thing."

The stones.

One stone was cold, now. Crimson in color, the stone swung by a chain in the freezing, snowing winds. For miles around, there was nothing. Nothing but dead grass covered by white, powdery ice flakes. The blanket of pearl was undisturbed in the near-morning darkness, save for a pair of metal feet buried almost mid-shin deep. No tracks led to or from the spot, as if the owner of the feet had been standing there when the snows had started… Truthfully, she had. She had no name now… It had asked her name, and she had given it… and now she was without a name. It was an empty feeling, one that was unpleasant, sorrowful and cold… cold like the snow, like the air. She'd given it up for the Purpose, the duty that had been asked of her. Battered metal plate mail met blue cloth as gaze traveled upwards, the knighted figure clad in a tattered blue skirt with shredded insignia. She'd known what they were once, but all memory had gone with the name. Dented plates above that, the quilt underneath them keeping out the deep freeze for the most part. To her left and right, a lance and shield… her javelin and escutcheon. They were old, but she'd forgotten their histories. Now they were her only friends against the cold… those two and the dragon-likened helm that marked her for a Lancer, blond hair falling out behind and blue eyes staring forwards as within the armor, Libra shivered.

"The stones made me do it"

"Unholier than the stones themselves"

"A demon of the stones, he is"

"I could do it with the stones"

The stones

One stone was warm now, the tear-shaped sapphire cradled in a pale shield-side hand of beauty as winter flooded vision. Red metal curved to various shapes met snow unpacked and fluffed, the various details in the exquisite armor only hinting at what lied beneath in many imaginations. Her name was gone… she'd given it freely and openly, and had been replaced with so much more. She did not control herself any longer, but her consciousness rode within with a certain amount of glee. This world would soon be gone, and her benefactor would rule… She would rule, for they were one and the same now. They were both all one part of a greater thing. Black hair fed out through the back of a falcon-likened helm, brown eyes fastened on the face not four feet from her… one hand gripped a pure white spear, the other enclosed within the straps of a shield made from gorgeous diamonds. Among other things, these had been given to her… to Virgo, warm Virgo.

"You stand before us yet again, dear sister Libra. Shivering, shaking Libra. Libra who seeks to maintain her fragile balance with only two hands. Tell me, what slip of a girl have you possessed, Libra? Coward? Weakling?"

"This girl is no weakling, malicious Virgo… and taunt me though you may I stand in your way again. You shall have no conquest."

"You expect me to be impressed that you banished my siblings again, foolish Libra?"

"They were my siblings as well, vile Virgo."

"You have been foe too many times to be of our family, traitorous Libra."

"And you have tipped the balance too many times for me to show you mercy."

"You never have… Why do you let your body freeze?"

"Because I will spare you nothing, Virgo."

The two weapons met in the falling flakes, rod against rod as each sought to push each other backwards into the snow. Steel ground against steel, then sprang apart as both jumped backwards. Whiteness was shoved and slid by muscled and metal'd legs, each suddenly reversing momentum and coming in a charge towards the other with both shield and spear raised. Two points ground against two shields, the two matching moves almost in a mirrorlike fashion. Both spun to the left in a pirouette, but only Libra swung the bar like an overhead flail…

…and was rewarded with the spang of metal on helm, Virgo cartwheeling into the cold with the nearly-assured ringing ear of someone who'd taken a severe hit to the side of the head. Getting up quickly out of reflex, Virgo's stolen eyes looked up in time to see her enemy's spearpoint being driven towards her head-

-and there was an explosion of spent energy, a feeling of distended air as snow rippled away from the holder of the blue stone, Libra flung upwards into the air, stories high above the disturbed snow. It took a full few seconds for the girl to realize where she was and what had happened, back twisting like a cat's in the suit of dented mail. Spinning like a top and flipping in the air, feet finally met the snow with a crash… the snow waved from the impact, momentum expended forcefully through the ground and away from the girl to save limbs. Libra had her own power… She was unhurt, but the armor couldn't take much more of this.

…but the snow was empty of foe, only white and exposed brown showing where they had been. Eyes looked around, then behind, then up, only to cause a near-timed roll to the left as white spike skewered where she'd been a split second ago. The javelin came up, fwhoomphing in the air as Virgo pulled her weapon from the ground…

CRACK.

The butt-end caught her in the head as the spear came free, Virgo sent toppling into the air while the falcon helm unclasped from pauldrons and spun into the snow some feet farther. Both warriors climbed to their feet, one helmeted while the other's black hair swung free…

"This is pointless, Libra."

"Then why do you still fight? I am not forcing you to continue this… battle. You are free to banish yourself."

At the same time, both crouched and sprung upwards, sleet and snow whistling past them as altitude climbed upwards, the two drawing towards one another slowly but surely with spears at the ready. Twenty feet up, fourty feet up, sixty, eighty, a hundred, higher and higher and higher and higher and up and up and up and

WHAM.

Virgo's shield met Libra's skull, cutting under the dragonlike helm and colliding with chin in a crushing blow that dazed and confused. Somersaulting backwards, Libra regained a hold on her weapon and twisted to see…

…Virgo's form suddenly alter direction as Libra's escutcheon went falling below, plates ripping from her back to make way for gigantic scarlet wings that tore flesh and bled as they expanded feathers and muscle. The huge flightfeathers whipped the stolen body around, the shield let free as both hands gripped the huge razor-tipped pole and arrowed directly towards her rival's heart…

…only to be blasted backwards by an outburst of energy from Libra's outstretched, likewise-unshielded hand. Both were flung away from each other as the altitude climb slowed to a pause, the semi-conscious bodies seeming to float in the atmosphere for precious seconds before gravity managed to figure out what was wrong with this picture.

The two fell, air whistling around them as gradually they both picked up speed. Virgo's wings fwapped once, stalling for precious seconds before re-orienting again… and Libra could do nothing without expending more precious energy than she wanted to. Eyes spun, looking around, up and down… snow to the left and right, her foe above her and her still-tumbling shield below… That was it.

Her weight shifted, falling faster and faster as her foe failed to keep up, those huge buoyant wings holding Virgo upwards and away from her. She fell faster and faster as the escutcheon came closer and closer…

SNATCH.

The metal plate was grabbed, slid onto the arm as back met snow. A tidal wave of momentum ripped through the disturbed white foam, flinging it high and out as Libra's own magic kept the spine whole and well. The plate was held to the chest, eyes upwards at Virgo's crimson missile of feathers and metal and flesh and edge and point…

And spearpoint met shield, the universe holding its breath for a few moments of apprehension. Little by little, cracks came riding up the spear's length from point to butt, Virgo's feet alighting on the earth on either side of Libra with a disturbing lightness…

KRABOOM.

The spear finally shattered, pent-up magicks no longer contained within the sundered weapon. Instead of exploding, it simply shattered, pieces raining on the escutcheon, its slayer as Virgo looked down upon prone Libra with irritated eyes that glinted an intimidating blue in the morning light…

"I could end you now."

"I do not believe you, Virgo."

"You lie prone at my feet and refuse to believe me?"

"You would have already done so if you could."

"…You are correct. I could kill you right now, but not in this form…"

Libra's bruised face twisted into a grin, eyes glinting with challenge…

"Then prove it, Virgo. Let us end this… if you banish me, now, then I will never oppose you again… I would lead your armies to this planet several times over."

"And if you banish me, Libra?"

"You seemed to be so sure of yourself earlier, Virgo, that I am surprised you even entertain the possibility."

"There must be two sides to every challenge. To every coin, Libra."

"Instead of the edge that we consistently land upon?"

"What?"

Without warning, Libra's chested escutcheon came upwards in a blow towards Virgo's stooped face. Blood spattered the snow as Virgo raised in surprise and a squall of pain, Libra's leg bending, raising and shoving Virgo stomach-first bodily away. The momentum carried Libra upright as Virgo flew upwards from the force, finally regaining control some twenty-five feet in the air and an equal distance away. Libra had put _magic_ into that kick… Virgo had not thought the lesser stone had owned such power.

Libra re-hefted the spear, the shield readied and shook back onto the wrist, where it had fallen from with the blow.

"Virgo…"

And a million screams pierced the desert of ice, the morning light darkening as scarlet plates exploded away from Virgo's expanding form… arms lengthened, legs lengthened, wings grew ever larger… screams turned to cackling laughter as the nude form of a winged giantess eclipsed the moon still hanging in the sky. In most respects, it still resembled the host of Virgo, in the black hair and proportions of her stolen body, but wings had grown again just above the ears, from the sides of the head and again from the upper arms.

"…You do not frighten me."

"**Do I not, petty Libra? Can you honestly look upon my power and say that I, great sister of the Lucavi and archangel of murder, do not frighten you? You are either a fool, suicidal, or incredibly brave."**

Libra's feet placed firmly in the rapidly-melting snow, joints no longer cold of the wind but warm of Virgo's-… Altima's heat. She radiated it… it was as if she were the center of a sun. But Libra was not scared… Either way this battle went, neither of them would die… they would only be doomed to repeat this some years later.

"You may think of me as all three."

And feet left the turf, Libra's borrowed legs bunching and springing the armored and battered body into the air. Not vertical, but rather as an arrow flies, javelin wrapped in one hand and the shield held in front of the face. She accelerated like a rocket with obsessive-compulsive disorder, altering flight with small bursts of energy and twists of the legs. Closer and closer and closer and

WHAP

Altima's almost lazy hand swept, the back of the palm colliding with the girl as a flyswatter to a mosquito. Armor pieces flew, the suit itself shattering on impact to send Libra rolling to the dead grass in thin clothes- skirt, tights and quilted shirt. Hands still clenched around her weapons; even with magic as a cushion for the ground's impact, the smack had smarted. Feet were regained in time to see Altima's foot at high velocity downwards. Libra rolled, a back-somersault out of impact radius. Eyes looked upwards, into that ominously beautiful face, meters wide and kilometers high up…

And one outstretched hand wrapped around her, clamping around her arms and legs so she could not move or retaliate. Libra was lifted into the air, squirming and firing so many different pulses of energy which did next to no good; if Altima had felt them, it was impossible to tell…

**"My dear Libra, I believe this is the first time I've won. Perhaps you should not have made your silly little challenge?"**

"You expect me to repent my choice?"

"**Why argue semantics when I can banish you here and now, painfully and grotesquely? You will burst most prettily, dear Libra, when I squeeze so…"**

Libra screamed as bones bent and strained under crushing joints, the blood and organs in her body squished to both ends, her skin almost feeling to tear- then the pain ended as suddenly as it started.

"**But I mustn't do it all at once, must I… I should savor this."**

"You… You… You…"

"**I what? Poor Libra, you cannot even begin a sentence without gasping for air… Perhaps your neck needs a little exercise, for breathing?"**

"W-what?"

The right hand moved inwards, a single enormous finger placed on the top of Libra's head; pressed down, then slowly turned it at different angles, twisting and turning and pulling and stretching as Libra howled in agony… and it ended as well, Virgo-… Altima laughing as the hand withdrew from the aching girl.

"**You stupid girl… to call yourself one of the Lucavi… only the might of a REAL Lucavi could best me…"**

"_...You want to fight a real Lucavi, Virgo?"_

"**What?"**

An explosion… The echo of it was heard miles away, Altima's hand flung wide and away as Libra hung floating in the air with both javelin and escutcheon hanging from limp limbs. Every part of her hurt… It ached, it was sore, it was bruised and cut and bloody and beaten and one of her eyes were blackened… She could barely move her neck and she was sick to her stomach and lungs… but she could still stare defiantly back into her captor's gigantic eyes.

"_Is that what you **want**?"_

Bright magenta electricity crackled around Libra as her swollen lips pulled backwards into a painful grimace, eyes glowing the same shade and pulsing as quilted fabric ripped and gave way to blood-soaked feathers. Veins pulsed under skin as Libra's balance…

…let go…

---

The boom was heard even continents away, deafening many and frightening still more.

---

…And Altima was knocked over on the ground, neck snapped and half of her head a scorching crater. Still the look of shock was frozen on the once-gorgeous face, unbelieving of what it had seen. Unclothed feet alighted on bare chest, the javelin held in one hand and the other hand clutching at a side.

"…_perhaps… Perhaps now… You will see why balance is important… dear Virgo."_

The Javelin plunged down through flesh and bone and into the heart, where it tapped against a small, pulsing blue stone…

---

Years later, a wandering herdsman found the body of two girls and two of the holy stones, one red and one blue. Wasting little time, a religion was quickly founded and a temple was built to the two goddesses of the holy stones. The javelin and the escutcheon were placed on top of two of the pillars. Eventually, the religion was found and destroyed utterly for practicing human sacrifice. The men responsible eventually discovered the holy stones, then proceeded to use them to fuel devices that they had built to 'better humanity's progress towards knowledge'. One of these programs turned their inventions defective, wiping them out without a trace. Today, this place is known as Nelveska Temple.


	11. The Ninja

Indeed… about time. I apologise to everyone SO much for the wait, it went against absolutely everything I was striving for… a world where authors updated regularly, a world where no review went unanswered… yet the act of a computerless few years ruined my dream. Alas! And yet…

**I return. **Let us see how long it takes me to get back into the swing of things.

…With review ReSpOnSeS!!!

2sides: I hope you enjoy the next chapter, if indeed you're still reading. I think a lot of people would like to see Latii again… I might have to do Class Returns, to use the characters again.

Melo: The only thing I regret is not really using the lancer's Jump skill effectively… or dragonheart, or many of the others for that matter. The battle, while cool, wasn't what I pictured… glad you liked it though. :)

ChaoticRetribution: Yeah, the first chapter's not my favorite either, lol. Go ahead and read the next few chapters, and try not to read #3… my Archer was really rushed.

Mastery: WAKE UP!!!!!

Materia Knight: Thanks, dude. I owe you a favor, lol.

Will: High praise. I plan to make MUCH more, delays aside.

Anime-Keeper: EVERYONE WANTS MORE LATII! Lmao. I guess I can't fault you though. Note they weren't twins, just siblings… but that's about it.

gasps for air flexes

Here we go...

---

**Chapter 11: Ninja**

"_Shinobi des geworfenen Messers"_

The city of Ku… They called it the City of Towers. This was not a descriptive name with no meaning, for there was not a single building inside the walls of Ku that did not reach under twenty stories high. There were no thieves within Ku, no assasins nor the robbers and bandits that plagued so many other cities and towns to the west. Ku was inviolate… under control, patrolled perfectly by four separate guilds of law enforcement. The air, the sea, the land, the sewers, and roofs themselves each watched by the four guilds.

Above it all ruled the Emperor... The Emperor Kiakru VII, who had hand-picked his bodyguards, built the grandest palace known to the western cities, ruled Ku with a hand that ruled only with a hand of justice. Compassion was not known to exist within Kiakru, nor mercy... but Kiakru was uncorruptible.

But let us not focus upon the nature of Ku further... no, there is a far more interesting action that takes begins farther away from the aristocrat's district, to the south of Rega gate. A happening that, in the dead of night, would mark the beginning to a series of _occurances_ that would go unknown to many and make others shiver.

---

"I can't decide which is worse. The rain, or the cold..."

"Quit griping, Shu. Be grateful you do not guard the city gates. Not only would you be wet and frigid, but you would be forced to stay aware."

"Nobody would attempt to sneak past a Ku guardsman... especially not the Wakao guild... why do we have to stand guard on a _roof _of all things?"

"Because we keep it that way. The citizens and guests stay in line BECAUSE we, the Wakao and the Takire and the Fllu and the Le'Shuku KEEP the citizens and the guests in li-"

"**Stop! **Did you hear that?"

The rooftop was empty. The flat roofs of differing height were a testament to the skill of whoever had laid plans for the city's architecture. Once upon a rooftop, there was nowhere to hide... and all the two guards would need to do would be to stand back-to-back, then survey the entirety of their platform. It was basic training, one that kept the guards on edge even when relaxed, that kept them watchful.

Both guards, Shu and the other, seemed, however, to neglect this portion of their training in the Wakao. Such an action would normally have had them executed... but given the nature and timing of their transgression, it seemed that the punishment for their deeds would arrive on swifter wings than the guild's culling.

Shu barely made any noise at all, as he first slumped to knees and gurgled, then fell upon the body of his comrade who bled most profusely from the kunai lodged into his left temple.

---

But who had committed this act? Who had slain the two guardsmen, and now perched atop a flagpole attached to the side of the tower where two fresh corpses lay for more to find in the morning? For the purposes of the mission, he had no name... but such a thing makes it quite difficult for the teller of a story, so for the sake of argument we shall call him 'Cloth'... Cloth was a tall man. This fact was not readily apparent, for the man in black fabric was hunched over quite a substantial amount of the time, making an accurate depiction of his thin stature difficult. He carried two weapons, one a rather wicked-looking crosspiece-less shortsword more reminiscent of a katana than anything else, the other a long-chained flail that he had coiled about his shoulders and body to let the head and handle dangle free.

Now let us look, instead, to see the man we have named to be 'Cloth' leap from the flagpole to his next stop, the top of Rega Gate. He would be unseen... the ground-patrolling Takire guild had full trust in the roof-watching Wakao to not let a would-be lawbreaker to traverse the rooftops. Hence, they did not look up.

---

In the end, it was a simple matter for Cloth to reach the Palace. In the aristocratic district, security was far more lax. What guards there were happened to be more ceremonial, less trained and tended to salute you rather than ask you the important 'who/what/where/when/why/how's that graced any soldier questioning an innocent civilian carrying two wagonloads of taxes. Yeah, taxes. Cloth couldn't help but smirk under the silk of his fabric mask, his blue eyes calmly watching the red-armored warriors mill about in semi-decent patrol. It was only a matter of timing to slip inside the palace's kitchen entrance.

---

Even late as it was, a lone cook was busy for tomorrow morning. The breakfast laid for the garrison had already been completed, and all that remained was the Emperor's own meal. Nimble and slender hands worked tiredly at the multitude of spices, separating and grinding carefully as well as diligently. She was fatigued, that was to be certain... But how could she not be happy? Tonight was the first night of Fa's new position as head cook, and she would be able to feed each of her family members, buy a sizable house, grow her own garden and even pay for her daughter's schooling as a geisha with a single week's worth of wages! No, nevermind that. To the task at hand, Fa! You still have to wash up, after you're done with all of thi-

"Who is there? Please, Vuri, if you wish to play night-time tricks, bother someone else..."

But the night guard was not there. Funny, Fa could have sworn that she felt something... as if the wind from someone's passing blew just so much to set her on edge. She couldn't help but become distracted, gripping the long herb-chopping knife in her right hand as worried brown eyes flicked across the room... and widened, for a long chain had wrapped about her arms and neck, pulling her back into the constricting arms of someone very strong indeed. She couldn't breathe... the chain on the man's extended flail was too tight, and she could not even utter a scream to save her life.

"I am sorry, but I cannot allow you to give testament as to what you have seen. May your soul find peace in the heavens."

As the Cloth's wakizashi cut soul free from its tether, there was no measurement for the amount of regret poor Fa felt.

---

The main hall... there was not a grander place in all of Ku, save perhaps the throne room itself. In the dark, it was as dead as the night itself. So how strange it was, that a man dressed in grey came rushing panicked into the room itself, one hand pressed to his spectacles and the other blindly searching in the dark for a candle to light.

"I can't believe this... absolutely ridiculous... what kind of _idiot_ loses the wages chit? Apparently me..."

A single match was struck, placed to one of the candles at the foot of the stairs and blown out... as gentle light flickered some semblance of life into the room, the grey-wrapped elder sighed. To search this room would take an age, one that he'd liefer not have spe-

"WH-gkk!"

And the flame was blown out again, but not before the gentle glint of a shuriken shined within candlelight.

---

Cloth was close, now. The large double doors of the Emperor's chambers loomed in his vision, but there was a slight issue. So far, passage within the palace had been an easy matter, but now three guards stood outside the only entrance to within... his target. So far, he had avoided open combat, but now Cloth had little choice...

"I spy, with my little ey-"

"Do shut up, Hagai. It is boring, yes, but it beats being wet outside."

"That was uncalled for. Here am I, finding a way to pass the time until shift change, and you have to go ordering me to silenc-"

"_Both _of you, suffer in silence. If the Emperor were to awaken, he would have all of our jobs to recruits. I know nothing of either of you, but I have a family to feed, thank you very much."

"Sorry Captain."

"_Don't apologize, keep up the banter... I could swear I saw that shadow move while you two argued."_

"What?"

"Look alive, Hagai!"

When Cloth struck, it was as if lightning had closed its eyes in sheer terror. The speed was fast, the attacks were deadly, and the cold, calculating poise of Cloth held many advantages the bushido of Kiakru's bodyguards did not... for example, the ability to spring sideways, deflect one long katana with a spinning flail and slip a wicked knife into the joint between pauldron and helmet.

"Hagai! Damn it!"

The aerial maneuver was not finished, however. Cloth was still spinning, the flail's long chain wrapping around the falling katana and flinging the sword sideways, Cloth pulling free his half-length'd weapon to fling it in an opposite direction with his rotations as momentum. Both the captain and underling would fall in mid-attack, matching eyesockets plugged by blades. Cloth knew they would never have had a chance... all their training was as moot without consistent field effort... and the strict guard of Ku eradicated most chance of that. Cloth, on the other hand...

Cloth still had no wound, and life left in him to push open the doors to the Emperor Kiakru's chambers. There would be small reason for silence... his entrance had been noisy.

---

"I had wondered why the lives within my city were vanishing, without cause of pestilence nor age. You have broken the law of Ku."

"I have broken many laws, Kiakru. You are to die tonight, for you have made yourself unpopular."

"By whose creed must this occurrence happen, assassin?"

"Mine. You have no compassion for man, do not understand that mistakes are made on occasion, that mercy is a need."

"You speak of things that I have not the luxury of, as both Emperor and man. What gives you the right to judge me, when I must judge alone? It is only MY right."

The emperor turned to face Cloth, in that huge, dimly-lit room... He stood in front of his bed, overhung by expensive fabric and rare wood. A room fit for royalty... obviously. Kiakru himself, despite his apparent wealth, was emaciated... thin, his brown skin drawn taut over his flesh and covered in rich dyed furs from exotic lands. A single red stone dangled from his neck, one emblazoned with a symbol akin to the yin and yang of spiritual energy. His own red eyes found Cloth's narrowed gaze, something like a smile drawing over those thin lips.

"For too many years have I ruled Ku with a perfect hand, always picking and pruning with carefulness and the might of a true ruler... What right is higher than that of the Judge?"

There was a gleam, from about Kiakru's neck. The aristocrat laughed, his echo deep from the skinny body. Cloth could not help but back instinctively for the door, sapphire eyes wavering to note just how the colors within the room seemed to bend and sway, then be yanked within the gem... and almost yell in surprise, to see the ruler begin to warp, and twist.

"**Foolish ninja... You cannot hope to overcome the rule of Ghal, the Judge... The stone of Cancer will drink your blood, as well as all the blood that resides within Ku!"**

The beast was monstrous... Chaos incarnate. The left arm was only a seething mass of long, thick tentacles, attached to some hulk of a body that claimed a three-fingered hand on thick, beefy arm for the right side. The legs were numerous, each spidery and hairy, carapace'd. And the head... misshapen and lumpy, it _might_ have been reminiscent of the emperor's own visage... but perhaps it would have been best to not dwell upon its appearance.

"What manner of beast are you... How long have we been ruled by a demon?!"

"**What difference does it make, when the ruling given is the same? You have taken a life, assassin! Your sin determines your sentence... Death! Death to the sinners! Hehahaha! The city will **_**BLEED!**_**"**

It came quickly... Cloth was forced to leap, to move skyward above a swift punch from Kiak- Ghal's right arm, to course above the monster's stinking breath and over its head onto the bed. Fabric slid under his tabi'd feet, bringing him onto the floor with the momentum...

_**SMASH**_

The bed was crunched by squirming black tentacles, the ninja knocked aside. Black-clothed body slid across the ground, then slammed into the far wall. It hurt... Cloth almost yelled, almost cursed... but instead expelled the energy into regaining his feet, refocusing as the monster reared back its head and gurgled in assumed victory imminent.

Victory imminent indeed... but it was the flail's head that caught Ghul's malformed noggin directly, causing the skull to fracture and the flesh to tear. But Cloth had been twenty feet away from the beast, how had he struck it from that distance?

He'd thrown it.

The wakizashi soon followed, finding a home deep within the lucavi's neck, sinking with the sickening sound of a keen edge separating meat. Next to follow were two kunai, several shuriken, a number of broken and sharp wood planks from the shattered bed... Ghul staggered, the spidery legs slumping as that huge arm attempted in vain to fend off the flying projectiles.

"Your reign has ended."

And next to fly was Cloth himself... those sapphire eyes blazed with a cold vengeance, hands reaching out to grab the long knife's handle... and ripping upwards to separate the gruesome head in twain.

---

The city is no longer ruled by the Kiakru dynasty. In the series of events following the assassination of Emperor Kiakru VII, there was argument over who the next ruler should be. What followed were a number of battles within the city itself amongst the four guilds of law enforcement, the deaths numbering into the thousands... though no guild suffered so much as the guildless. In the end, Each of the guild leaders met the same fate as the late emperor, and each fell to in-fighting and dissolution.

Ku is now leaderless... armyless... lawless... but how is it that each member of 'society' seems to be that much happier, without security? Though every man and woman carries a weapon and is taught from birth on its use, you will almost always be greeted with a smile...


End file.
